Living in Process

rethinking lifestyle design through presence and process

For the past several years, I've been deeply immersed in what Tim Ferriss popularized as lifestyle design - both for myself and through helping friends and coaching clients shape their lives more intentionally. While he framed it in The 4-Hour Workweek as breaking free from the 9-5, I've found it touches everything: how we structure our days, where we choose to live, our relationship with technology, and how we manage our time and energy. At its core, it's about making conscious choices about how you want to live instead of defaulting to societal expectations. Though living without a lease since 2020 has given me unique insights into intentional living, I've come to realize this goes far beyond just housing choices or location independence.

Unfortunately, much of today's discussion around designing one's life has devolved into aesthetically-pleasing Pinterest moodboards and wishlists of home goods. This focus on consumption and material assets misses the deeper aspects of how we actually want to live - the processes we create, the experiences we pursue, and the relationships we nurture. Even those claiming spiritual depth fall into this trap of believing accumulation of things will make us happier—just look at the $10 bundles of sage and healing crystals being sold in boutiques residing in neighborhoods prevalent in gentrification font.

Living without a lease for over five years has been like speed-running lifestyle design. While most people follow the conventional path of 12-month leases in one city, usually renewing or moving within the same area, I've experienced the full spectrum of living situations. I've stayed in everything from $4 hostels in Bali to 5-star hotels around the world. I've lived in Manhattan penthouses and humble basement rooms during ski season. In all these places, I'm always living in other people's spaces, interacting with their possessions, furniture, cooking equipment, and decorations. With just my clothes and a few essentials in tow - monitor, humidifier, Theragun, and coffee grinder made the cut for Salt Lake City - I've learned to adapt to each new environment. It's like being a cat with nine lives, but instead of extra chances at life, I get to experience different ways of living. This nomadic lifestyle has paradoxically both de-emphasized material possessions and heightened my awareness of non-tangible aspects like the rhythm of my days, the value of empty space, the importance of loved ones around me, and my inner state have all become more prominent after five years of this grand experiment.

From Design to Process

I actually wholeheartedly agree with Tim's definition that "Effective lifestyle design is effective testing and awareness," but the terminology itself can lead us astray. The word lifestyle evokes imagery of houses, cars, and material goods, while design implies a level of control and predictability that simply doesn't exist in life. When an architect designs a building, they work with stable constraints and known materials. But life isn't like that—it's full of uncertainties and evolving circumstances that can't be mapped out in advance.

What I'm advocating for instead is living in process, an approach that emphasizes being present-oriented and adaptive rather than fixated on specific outcomes. A good life requires constant nurturing and attunement to what's actually here right now, much like tending to a garden. Through these experiments, I've honed in on a few core principles that matter more than conventional markers of success:

• First is the power of direct experience - learning to trust how something actually feels rather than how you imagine it will feel or how others describe it. This has become my north star when making decisions about where to live, what activities to pursue, and how to spend my time.

• Second is what I call strategic simplicity - being intentional about what you say no to is just as important as what you say yes to. In a world constantly demanding our attention, the ability to thoughtfully decline becomes a superpower.

• Third is maintaining empty space for spontaneity and reflection. This isn't just about free time in your calendar - it's about creating mental and emotional space that allows for new possibilities.

• Fourth is cultivating genuine relationships that go beyond just maintaining a social circle. Our experience of reality is profoundly shaped by our relationships - with people, places, and even the objects that surround us.

• Finally, there's the practice of establishing non-negotiable routines that keep you grounded. These aren't rigid rules but rather supportive structures that help maintain clarity and balance.

These principles emerged not from theory but from years of testing and real-world experience - sometimes through success, often through failure, but always through direct engagement with life as it unfolds. The path reveals itself not through planning, but through presence and practice.

Skiing as Process

Let me share how this looks in practice. I'm currently in Salt Lake City, living in a 5-bedroom house with fellow snow sport enthusiasts. This setup is the latest iteration of a five-year experiment with making skiing a bigger part of my life, which began during the masked-chairlift days of winter 2020. The journey started with premium Airbnbs near mountains, evolved through two distinct ski leases in Tahoe where I followed others' lead, and has now culminated in this more intentional arrangement where I have more say in the experience.

My relationship with skiing itself shows how living in process works. Through direct experience, I discovered that weekday skiing is dramatically different from weekend skiing. A recent Saturday perfectly illustrated this: 6am wake-up, trudging to the bus station at 7am (no parking reservations available), stuck until 10am in a snowstorm, finally reaching Brighton at 11:30am. After skiing just 10,000 vertical feet, we started our journey home at 3pm, finally arriving at 5:45pm. Compare this to a Monday at Snowbird: 28-minute drive, easy parking, non-stop skiing on the tram and major lifts until we were satisfied. We logged over 20,000 vertical feet, left before 2pm once our legs were fried, and had plenty of daytime left to get other stuff done. Sometimes you have to roll the dice on a powder day and accept the lengthy logistics of chasing the stoke, but there is something nice about being able to fit skiing in with other priorities.

My whole relationship with skiing has transformed through this process. After multiple 60+ day seasons and a broken ankle last year, I've realized I care about other aspects of life too. Now, in January 2025, I'm dedicating just one month to skiing in Salt Lake City—a decision that emerged from years of testing and learning. The choice of SLC over Tahoe wasn't random either; for similar cost, you get superior mountains, tastier restaurants, cheaper groceries, and a more complete lifestyle.

This season it’s clear that my relationship with skiing has evolved. Three years ago, I was optimizing for maximum days on snow, trying to ski 5-6 days a week unless my body demanded a down day. Now, I aim for 2-3 high-quality days per week, prioritizing meaningful sessions with friends over endlessly chasing vert. This shift wasn't planned. It emerged naturally through the process of living it, testing different approaches, and staying attuned to what actually feels right rather than what sounds good in theory.

An Oatmeal Story

Living in process isn't just about life's big questions like "where should I live?" or "what's my calling?" It shows up in the smallest, most overlooked aspects of daily life. Let me show you what I mean with the simple example of oatmeal.

I started with zero experience and the common perception of oatmeal as bland "health food." Through testing different varieties, I discovered that while steel-cut oats might be "superior," they weren't practical for my needs. The real insights came through direct experience - noticing how cinnamon hits differently in overnight oats versus hot preparations, details you won't find in online recipes.

You might think "it's just oatmeal," but it perfectly exemplifies living in process. It's simple, fast, healthy, and adaptable - I can make it in an Airbnb with just a microwave and mini-fridge. The flavor is satisfying without being so distinct it gets old (unlike, say, spicy Szechuan boiled fish - delicious but not something you'd want daily). In summer, I switch to smoothies with similar ingredients, maintaining the practice while adapting to the season.

Most importantly, this simple breakfast practice creates a beautiful contrast: by keeping daily meals simple, I find myself even more excited for special gatherings, whether at restaurants or home-cooked family dinners. Like many aspects of living in process, this balance between daily simplicity and occasional indulgence emerged naturally through experimentation rather than rigid planning. In the end, even oatmeal becomes a teacher when we're willing to learn through living rather than planning through thinking.

A Laboratory of Living

While living in process might sound theoretical, it comes alive through direct experimentation with life itself. A central aspect of this way of living assumes that change is constant and maintaining a good life requires staying attuned to one’s own desires, the people around them, and the environment. Living well demands that we venture into unfamiliar territory, testing new possibilities both big and small—like testing out where to live with a one-month stint, or simply trying a new recipe or route on the way to work.

Though I never consciously designed it this way, I’ve been continuously testing new ways of living for years now, in search of a way of being that feels supportive and nourishing while also creating fertile space for growth and development. My approach has been less like Tim Ferris or Bryan Johnson, and more like a monk who happily chooses to remain in modernity, rather than seeking shelter in a monastery.

Proven Practices: The Experiments That Worked

To put it tactically, here are some of the experiments that I’ve validated:

• Charging my phone outside of the bedroom

• No devices for the first and last ~90 minutes of the day

• Physical exercise everyday, sometimes 2x day like ski + yoga or lift + yoga

• A grounding morning routine:

  • meditation → morning pages (handwritten journaling) → phoneless outdoor walk for 30 minutes

  • Winter variation: stretch → meditation → morning pages (stretching is key during ski season, and well, because it’s cold outside)

• Eating dinner earlier for better sleep. Also, magnesium is the only supplement that I’ve actually felt the difference.

• Minimizing social media. I’ll still post on Twitter/LinkedIn to share a blog, but I get in and get out as fast as I can before a doomscroll vortex pulls me in.

These practices didn't emerge fully formed. Each took multiple iterations and countless back-and-forths before becoming integrated parts of who I am. Though they might appear to be mere habits, they're different because they're always being refined and shifting, responding to life's natural rhythms.

Current Experiments in Progress

• Removing iMessage from my laptop to curb constant text-checking during morning reading and writing. Two weeks in, I've noticed improved focus and, surprisingly, faster response times. When I check messages now, I reply immediately rather than letting them linger.

• I’ve stopped drinking regular coffee, and instead, opt for decaf coffee pour-over style, tea, or nothing. After a successful six-month break in 2023 and an eventual return, I've noticed my dependence creeping back. This time feels different though. It feels less like a break and more like a break-up.

• Mindful workouts: wearing AirPods without music and keeping my phone in a zipped pocket. Between sets, instead of scrolling, I practice presence: getting water, pacing, or tuning inward to sense when I'm ready for the next set. Just a few sessions in, I'm experiencing deeper enjoyment and accomplishing the same work in less time.

• Social media friction: Signing out of all platforms on my laptop. The login barrier creates space to catch myself before mindlessly opening tabs out of compulsion. Previously, I tried the Newsfeed Eradicator extension to block algorithmic feeds, but found too many workarounds.

• Taking it further: Bricking (blocking) all social apps on my phone. Posting anything requires physically unblocking apps with a dedicated device - a deliberate barrier between myself and social media. Given my work in coaching and writing, I don’t anticipate deleting social media or abstaining entirely, but rather maintaining clear boundaries with these bloodthirsty attention vultures.

The Daily Practice of an Ideal Life

Out of all the ideas that I've written about, none resonates more deeply than living one good day¹ at a time. This simple idea has become my north star, and whenever I encounter others who understand its power, I'm instantly drawn to their wisdom. One such kindred spirit is Kevin Dahlstrom², who has achieved the remarkable feat of maintaining the pure joy and essence of being a climbing bum (or ski/surf bum) while building a successful career and nurturing a happy, loving family. His tweet about defining your ideal end state struck a chord, as it perfectly aligns with what I've discovered about living in process. The "best life" represents the "what" while living in process embodies the "how". Inspired by his framework, I decided to map out my own ideal end state.

What’s interesting from this exercise is seeing just how much of it can be achieved or created right now. Other than owning my dream home and having enough money to fund this ideal lifestyle indefinitely, I pretty much have the ability to live this way, if I choose to.

The Inner and Outer Dance

As I've deepened my exploration into therapy, spirituality, and consciousness work, I've discovered an unexpected harmony between these inner pursuits and what might seem like more mundane, “normie” aspects of life - my fitness routines, love of nature, and daily practices. Sometimes I wonder if there's any real connection between these seemingly disparate passions, but what began as simple lifestyle experiments has evolved into a deeper journey of self-discovery.

I believe there's actually a strong connection between the surface level aspects of thinking about morning routines and where to live, and the deeper explorations of self-discovery. Take the ideal life exercise for example. When we dig beneath surface-level desires, we often find that our ideal self isn't as far from our current reality as we might think. This insight doesn't come from dampening our aspirations, but rather from developing a deeper awareness of our present capabilities and untapped potential.

Our feelings and actions exist in a continuous feedback loop—they're two sides of the same coin. How we live shapes our inner state, while our internal patterns, beliefs, and stories unconsciously guide our choices. When we object that we truly need that Bugatti, that senior director title at FAANG, or specifically at least $2M in our bank account to feel secure, we're often masking deeper needs. Behind the sports car might be a desire to feel fully seen. Beneath ambitious career goals often lies a fundamental human need for safety and belonging.

This shift in perspective doesn't happen through intellectual understanding alone. Change only happens in direct experience, not in the idea of change or in the mind thinking about the future. It required my own extremes - from $4 hostels in Bali to 5-star hotels on business trips - to truly grasp these lessons. Theory can point the way, but real transformation only occurs through direct experience, through living it. The journey of aligning our outer lives with our inner truth is ongoing, but it begins with a simple question: How would you like to live?

P.S. To learn more about coaching with me, check out my website.

1. Check out an essay I wrote called Chainsmoking Good Days

2. Kevin explores this further in his talk How to Build a Kick Ass Life